Canvas 1,208 — Almost Dawn
Almost dawn — the first dove — as if love is a sweet eccentricity [ 735 ]
Tag Archive for ‘Love’
First Love
Next time I will let you taste my honey — Then she flew on — and left me — with a hum [ 733 ]
Shoreline
The moonlight, and our boat — don’t they make a lovely pair? Their faded paint, and silver hair? O dear one — how long have we — been sitting here? [ 720 ]
One More Cherry Blossom Poem
Death, or politics? Politics have neither death’s dignity nor purpose; and they lack death’s sublime, optimistic future; for after death, that which is once said to have been living, goes on living in myriad forms and ways; whereas politics are an accumulation of toxic waste matter that is dangerous to all living things. That politics often cause death, is reason enough to set them aside. Why sacrifice my precious energy […]
Moved
The breeze — her hair — held pink-white snow. She knew her lines and said them well. Now her leaves hide not her nakedness. And she — so kind — that I — should know. April 4, 2020 [ 716 ]
Summary
To write my whole life and discover I am not the library, Or even the book, but the bookmark, And then to feel your breath, your fingertips, your hand. [ 715 ]
Someone
When the morning sun reveals every grain of dust on my desk, and papers, and books, I see oxen and stars. Random Note, April 1, 2010 Someone Someone sewing masks. Someone dropping bombs. Someone preaching hatred. Someone washing hands. Someone lights a candle. Someone whispers love. [ 713 ]
The Books by My Bed
This is a very old poem, from a lost, undated manuscript, which was later typed on my old Royal and also lost, or likely discarded. Earlier today I found I’d included it in an entry of One Hand Clapping, the lines divided by slashes. It’s a curiosity at best. As no other record exists, I’ll file it here for gentle guests and future laughs. March 29, 2020 The Books […]
After You
My friend, if you can’t find the good news, be the good news. “Medium” Recently Banned Literature, March 8, 2017 After You You birds at the feeder, heedless of fate — Believe me, I share the same faith, And as long as you preach thus, I’m willing to wait. [ 707 ]
In the Garden
Salt on a sparrow’s tail, and a world of things unseen — Dear one — your hand — is shaking — [ 704 ]
William Michaelian 
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